Parauni
by Faery Goddyss
Summary: After a tragic accident, Stan is unable to piece his life back together. If he can’t remember the past, how will he able to work towards the future? COWRITTEN with Indiana Beach Bum. Told through Kenny’s POV. Slight Style.
1. What If

**AN: **Yeah we know…we're writing another story together. Sue us! We had fun last time, and got to know each other so much better because of Reformations. Surprise, surprise it's another style fic but it's also told through Kenny's POV. Don't let that deter you. It's our absolute love for him that made things turn out this way. It'll be an interesting take on those usual style fics. Or so we hope. Oh, and for those curious about the title, well, you'll find out eventually.**  
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**WARNING**: The events in this story are fictitious. In no way are we medical experts, and our logic only takes us so far. So if you find yourself asking, "could that really happen?" We'll answer it for you: probably not. Otherwise, the usual stuff. Swearing and gayness.

**Disclaimer: **We don't own South Park, etc, etc.

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**Prologue**

Usually I'm used to messed up things happening to me. I mean, its me—I die for a living. Just chalk it up to God and Satan playing Russian roulette with my existence. But when something completely fucked up happens to someone close to me without an explanation? I just don't get it.

It was baseball season and as such the three of us had gotten in a habit of picking up Stan from practice…or more like dragging Stan from practice. If we didn't go to retrieve him he'd stay inside one of the batting cages for hours on end. He knew his batting average needed some work so he'd work himself raw if we didn't step in.

That day was supposed to be no different. Kyle and I were heading there together with Cartman tagging along to be nothing more than a nuisance. That's all he ever really was then, and that's all he is now. He walked with us to do nothing more than aggravate Kyle, and while it annoyed me sometimes it was pretty amusing to see them go at it.

In any case when we arrived at the high school's baseball fields, Stan was exactly where we knew he'd be. Swinging and hitting ball after ball in his favored cage. I took that moment to glance over at Kyle, who had stopped mid rant with Cartman to glance at his best friend. I saw his eyes light up at the sight of him, but I didn't say anything of it. I never did.

"Stan you know the drill let's go," I called out as we approached the edge of the cage slowly. I watched him hit a ball that flew behind him before he got back into his proper stance.

"Just a couple more rounds," he said automatically. That's what he always said.

I was pretty resolved to let him do just that. There wasn't much any of us could do when he was determined to hit a few more balls.

"Stan come on, do we have to do this everyday for the rest of our senior year?" Kyle questioned exasperated.

"Then don't come pick up your boyfriend," I heard Cartman say to Kyle. I swear, he only said those things to grate on Kyle's nerves. There's no way he ever really knew.

While I continued to watch Stan swing I tuned out Cartman and Kyle's bickering. They fought more than a married couple; something I would never say to Kyle's face, but it was pretty true. He had to know Cartman only said the things he did just to get a rise out of him, he _had_ to…and yet he always fell for the insults. I became numb to Cartman's teasing long ago, Stan too. But unlike me, Stan never quite learned to tune them out and I watched as he lowered his back and as his head and shoulder sunk.

He was trying to keep his mind on the baseballs whirring at him at 50 mph, but it was getting pretty tough for him with the fighting going on to his right.

"Ah, Cartman you asshole!" I heard, while simultaneously watching something whiz past me and land into Stan's cage. "That was my phone you fat prick!" Kyle yelled, though it sounded somewhat distant to me.

My eyes were on Stan, who let out a long annoyed sigh. He closed his eyes briefly before I watched him bend down to pick up Kyle's phone. "You guys, I fucking swear if you don't-"

And that was the last thing he said, for at that precise moment the ball machine spit out another fastball, but this time Stan wasn't in position. He hadn't been in his stance; rather his head had been in direct line of the machine. So it was no wonder that it made contact with his skull.

I'll never forget the moment. The realization of what was about to happen and knowing that nothing could be done except to watch. I didn't even have time to call out to him. All I could do was watch as the ball hit him in the side of the head with a loud 'CRACK!' And I watched him drop unconscious to the ground littered with discarded baseballs.

I don't know what freaked me out the most during that moment. Watching that happen, hearing Kyle scream when he'd realized what had happened, or the sight of the ball machine still spitting out balls to a player that wouldn't be hitting them for a long, long time.

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**Parauni  
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**Chapter 1 - What If**

"Mrs. Marsh, Dr. Rivers is ready to see you now," the receptionist informs us as she stuffs papers into a clipboard and searches for a pen. Mrs. M stands up, her legs all wobbly, and makes her way over to the secretary counter. I watch her with my own legs numb with shock. I can't even imagine what's going through her mind.

We called 911 as soon as Stan hit the ground and they rushed an ambulance to the cages five minutes after that. I took the liberty of calling Stan's parents as I drove both Kyle and me to the hospital. Sharon picked up and nearly fainted over the phone, and Randy was in a meeting in Denver for some geological survey. Cartman made up some lame excuse about not being able to tolerate sick people in hospitals and bailed on us, but I know the real reason he's not here. He knows he could get blamed for what happened. He's guilty as fuck too.

Kyle hasn't said a single word since the drive here. Even then it was only to tell me I'm not driving fast enough. He wanted to make it there before they took Stan in for surgery. They rushed Stan into the OR before we could even park the car. The paramedics told me that this is a serious enough injury if they don't work at the speed of light, he might not make it. I definitely didn't tell Kyle that.

Since then, they moved us to the ICU waiting room, and we've been in here for about three hours. Mrs. M's been on and off the phone with her husband, who is apparently stuck in a traffic jam an hour away. Kyle's been staring at the same bald spot in the carpet, and I've not been able to get rid of this obnoxious case of dry mouth.

I don't honestly know what's gonna happen. Stan's a pretty tough guy, but even the best of the best can't argue with a flying object to the head. That ball probably scrambled his brain.

Kyle looks devastated. I mean _devastated_. Can't honestly say I feel much of anything right now. I think the overall sensation of knowing that whatever the outcome is, it won't be pretty, has dulled my senses. I guess I know this is bad, but my brain won't make the connection of how bad it is with the fact that it happened to one of my best friends.

Out of instinct, and a failed attempt to cheer him up, I place my hand on Kyle's shoulder. "He's gonna be okay, Kyle." Even I know that's a lie.

He doesn't say a word in response, which is much worse than him saying anything. The Kyle I've grown up with is quick witted whether that be at correcting someone, or with sarcastic banter. But the silent thing? That's my least favorite of all his reactions.

I let my hand drop back down to my side and let out a sigh. Without really wanting to, my mind starts to think over all the worst-case scenarios. He could end up brain damaged, or paralyzed. He could be one of those lifeless vegetables…or, fuck…he could die. That's the worst case. I don't know much about head injuries but I do know having one is something a person is better off avoiding.

"Kyle, Kenny?"

Both Kyle and I snap our heads up at the sound of Mrs. M addressing us.

"W-what did she say?" Kyle asks referring to nurse who called for Mrs. Marsh.

She shakes her head at us, and I can tell she's trying to keep something in. Tears? It must be because her lips are pierced shut, and while she's talking to us her eyes are on the doors Stan must have been rushed through hours ago on a stretcher.

"Is he going to be okay?" Kyle continues.

"…He's resting right now. But he's scheduled for another surgery, and there's nothing you boys can do right now so it's probably best if you go home."

"Go home?" Both Kyle and I say in unison and equal disbelief.

How could she think we could go home without knowing exactly what's going to become of Stan? There's no way I'd be able to do anything that I'm not already doing here at home. If anything I'd be more of a mess, Kyle probably even worse so.

"Mrs. Marsh we can't, there's no way," I tell her shaking my head.

I realize there's nothing we can do, but she wasn't there at the batting cage. She didn't see her son plummet to the ground, and she didn't hear that sickening sound the ball made on impact. Not even Kyle saw what happened; he just put two and two together. I'm the only one that witnessed what happened…and that's going to stay with me for a long time.

"And we can't leave you here by yourself," Kyle adds weakly. He looks pretty sick, emotionally and physically. "Please let us stay, we won't be a bother…we'll stay at least until Mr. Marsh gets here." He reaches out and grabs her wrist, no doubt giving it a gentle squeeze.

It's like he's telling her she doesn't have to be remotely strong for our sake. We can tell she wants to cry, but she's trying to be an "adult" about the situation. I watch as she closes her eyes briefly while swallowing something caught in her throat.

"Right," she mutters before dropping down into the chair besides Kyle. "Oh boys," she says in a whisper. "What's going to happen to our Stan?" Having said that I see a few tears run down her cheeks from her closed eyes. It makes me cast my eyes from her and plant them back on the cheap hospital carpeting.

I can't watch her cry.

I can't watch Kyle anymore either. He looks like someone stabbed a hook in his heart, fished it out of his body, and threw it back in the lake to rot. I know they've never said anything—and I doubt they ever will—but I know there's more to his sorrow than just the feeling of losing a friend. There's a different kind of emotion in his eyes.

I drop my head onto my fist and reposition myself on the uncomfortable chair for the fiftieth time. Whoever opted for cheap industrial plastic furniture in a waiting room obviously enjoyed having their ass on fire for all the wrong reasons. My cheeks lost all sensation during the first fifteen minutes, and I haven't been able to revive them ever since. Whatever happened to thick, cushiony upholstery for longtime visitors? I'm about ready to steal the receptionist's wheelie chair. At least it has a butt pillow.

I slouch down even further and close my eyes to avoid any more depressing sights. Maybe if I fall asleep my thoughts will temporarily disappear and I'll forget that I'm out here waiting for the doctors to throw a lifeline to my friend.

Closing off one sense opens up all the others though, cause I can hear the faintest of sniffling coming from Kyle now. It breaks my heart to know that his heart is breaking, and all I'm trying to do is sleep. Am I really that big of an asshole?

I guess everyone deals differently. I've never been the one to deal with death—I've always been its target. So no one can label me as insensitive. Cause I've been through hell and back. Literally.

Man, Cartman should get put away for this for real. He gets away with the shittiest things, and no one has the balls to even give him a slap on the wrist. I don't know why we still hang out with that fat fuck. All he ever does is cause trouble. And this isn't trouble. This is…this is tragedy.

The whole school will be all over this tomorrow. Stan's one of our leaders and everyone wants to know everybody's business. No doubt his baseball blunder will hit the newsstands before the first bell rings. I'm not even sure if I want to go to school. I don't think Kyle will make it. We have a justifiable reason for not doing it.

How the hell could anyone expect us to concentrate on things like history when we're having enough trouble dealing with the present? Yeah, fuck school. I'm not going and I doubt my parents are going to harass me about it. I wonder what Mrs. Broflovski will do though…I feel like she's always given mixed signals about Stan. She hates me—that I'm sure of—but I don't know how she feels about Stan. Either way this is one of those few times where I see Kyle putting his foot down about what he wants.

After what seems like another hour has passed I suddenly stand up. I just can't sit in that goddamn chair anymore! Kyle glances at me briefly, no doubt wondering what I'm doing.

"Anyone want a drink or something from a vending machine? I thought I saw one when we came in," I ask.

Mrs. M shakes her head while Kyle looks at me like I'm insane for wanting food.

"I can't do the waiting game anymore," I tell him softly so Stan's mom won't hear. Not that I think she's really listening but I don't want to sound insensitive. I want to be here the second we get more information on Stan but if he's really gone back into surgery we probably won't hear anything for awhile.

"No I don't want anything," he murmurs.

"Kyle dear why don't you go with him? Stretch your legs a bit," Mrs. Marsh says gently. I can see he's prepared to shake his head in disagreement, but he doesn't have the energy to fight her on something as small as getting a little grub. Stan may be our bud, but it's her kid going under the knife a second time in one day.

"Yeah, sure," he says dully and stands up. His pace is that of an old man, and as I swing my arm around his shoulder I feel like I'm doing it to support his internal struggle. I feel that if I don't do that he'd let himself fall back down into the chair beneath him.

I guide him along through the quiet room and into the still hallways. It's not too busy in here. I don't know what I expected from an ICU, but TV's always told me it was a busy place. There aren't too many people around, save nurses, receptionists and a random cleaning lady. Maybe it's that stillness that makes things harder, because I feel Kyle tense under my touch and I increase the pressure on his shoulder to assure him I'm still here.

We walk silently to where I'm sure I saw a few vending machines and when we get to the little room I realize I don't have a dime on me.

"Uh, got any change?" I ask Kyle and I watch as he wordlessly fishes through his back pocket, pulls out a ten, and hands it to me. "…Anything smaller?"

"How can you eat at a time like this?" he asks back, finally talking.

"I didn't say I was going to eat it," I respond quietly. "I just had to move, had to get out of the waiting room dude."

"Well I want to go back."

At this, I sigh. "Kyle, I want to be here when they have some information just as much as you do, but do you really think its doing us any good to sit around and dream up the worst case scenarios? Do you think Stan would want us doing that?"

He leans in close to me with gritted teeth. "Stan shouldn't even be in here at all so I don't give a damn what you say he wants. _I_ want to go back."

"And I want him to walk out of here without a scratch but it ain't gonna happen. You know as well as I do that they're not coming close to letting us see him tonight. It's already seven-thirty now, and he just went back for more surgery. The most that'll happen yet tonight is the doctor coming out and telling us whether it was a success or a failure." I know I'm being way harsh with what I'm saying, but Mrs. M is right. It's not really doing us any good to stay here. She'll inform us if anything changes. I plan on leaving when Randy gets here.

"That's a big deal, Kenny. I want to be here when they tell us how it went." Kyle's voice is so small, its as if someone shrunk his voice box.

"We won't even be allow-"

"I don't care!" he asserts.

My shoulders drop as I admit defeat. This isn't healthy for Kyle. I know nothing we do right now will really be worthwhile, but at least I can take his mind off the current situation for a few moments if we get out of this depressing place. We've got to think happy thoughts. That Stan is going to pull through with, at the very most, a really bitchin' scar on the side of his head.

"Alright lets go back," I mumble, turning Kyle's shoulders for him with my hands. He breathes out deeply and doesn't wait for me to keep up.

By the time we get back to the demon chairs, I notice someone else who has joined Mrs. M.

"Mr. Marsh!" I call out with little excitement. Randy turns around to greet Kyle and me with red, glossy eyes. Kyle takes his designated seat without another word.

"I got here as soon as I could," I hear Randy tell his wife, who has broken down considerably in the few short minutes of our absence.

"Oh Randy, he's in another surgery! The doctor said he wouldn't be able to label his condition until after this procedure. And even then it's so risky! I'm just so scared," she murmurs into his jacket, soaking the sleeves where he holds her. I reluctantly take my seat and stare up at them.

"It's going to be okay, Sharon. Stan's been in the hospital before and he's pulled through every time. This won't be any different." Randy's consoling is half-assed and he knows it.

"His skull was split open," Kyle adds, surprising me. "You don't recover from that very easily."

So Kyle thinks Stan is going to die. Randy thinks he'll be fine and Sharon doesn't know. And I honestly don't understand it at all. Why didn't the ball just go through the cage and clock me in the head? I'd be dead of course, but I'd be back again tomorrow morning. Better yet, why didn't it just punch Cartman in the gut? He'd be protected by so much fat he wouldn't even feel the slightest sting.

"Dude," I say to Kyle, nudging him with my elbow. I get that he's upset, I'm upset, we all are, but blunt words like that aren't helping anyone.

"That's what happened," he responds clearly. "A ball going at the max speed of a car on a highway hit his brain and it's all my damn fault."

"What?!" I questioned surprised, even the Marsh's look taken aback by what Kyle's said.

"If I just hadn't let that fat bastard bait me…I knew what he was doing Kenny! Cartman does it all the time! If I just hadn't let his taunting get to me he wouldn't have grabbed my phone in retaliation. He wouldn't have thrown it, it wouldn't have landed in the batting cage and Stan wouldn't have bent down to pick it up! I was always a distraction for him when he played. This whole thing is my fucking fault!"

"Are you out of your damn mind?!" I ask, grabbing onto his upper arm to force him to look at me. "This isn't your fault at all! If anything it's Cartman's fault for being such a dick! Is that what's been running through your mind this entire time? Kyle, shit man, you didn't cause this!"

"Kenny's right Kyle," Mrs. Marsh says. "This was just an accident…a horrible one, but an accident nonetheless."

"That's right boys, this isn't about whose fault it is. If anything…Stan should have been a bit more careful. No one but him could have possibly known the timing for when the balls were released," Mr. Marsh adds.

"But he did know and I was the one that distracted him! He was in the middle of telling me and Cartman to shut up so he could concentrate when…" Kyle trails off and I realize it's to start crying again.

"Ah jeez, Kyle…" I say quietly. "Stan…Stan's gonna be fine ya know? I mean, it's Stan." Ugh, right because those were some real comforting words.

"STAN IS NOT YOU KENNY!" He suddenly shouts at me as angry tears continue to fall. "IF HE DIES, HE IS NOT COMING BACK TO LIFE! EVER!" With his outburst gone as quickly as he came he slumps against me, crying into my shoulder.

"I think we should go," I say more to the Marsh's than to Kyle.

"Perhaps that's a good idea," Mr. Marsh agrees looking at Stan's best friend.

"No!" he half yells and half sobs.

I can't believe I'm agreeing to go. I'd rather not, but this atmosphere is doing shit to Kyle's nerves. I mean, for him to think this is his fault? The rational part of him would be blaming Cartman for this whole mess, not himself. Besides I'm getting tired, and I'd rather us not get into an accident and end up exactly where Stan is.

"Yeah I think so," I say to him and pull him back up with me. "Um," I glance at the Marsh's who are still hugging onto each other. This is the first time I've ever seen them look so helpless and small. They've always been such a loud overbearing couple. They were always matter-of-fact about everything, but obviously they're as lost as Kyle and I are.

--

"Where are you taking me?" Kyle asks through a curtain of resentment as I pass his road. He's irritated with me for making him leave. And he's said nothing to me—he hasn't even _looked_ at me since we left the hospital. I'm not letting him stay alone tonight. Left for his own thoughts to consume him. He needs a rational, or at least semi-rational persistent asshole like me to keep him on track. That's the very least I can do for my upset friend.

"You're staying with me tonight. You're in no condition to be by yourself," I tell him honestly. My house is only three blocks away anyway. If he's that pissed off at this idea, he could walk home in the middle of the night and I'd never notice. I sleep like a rock.

"Don't tell me what condition I'm in. I have every right to be worrying like this." He turns to me with an accusing finger. "You know he's not going to be 'fine', Ken. You saw what happened in the cage today. Stan—_our _Stan—will not be there when, if, he wakes up. You can't catch a speedball with your head and expect to walk away. You just can't!"

I growl under my breath. Anger is a natural process of irrational thought, and I'm okay with it. I just hope he doesn't expect to bitch at me all night. "I know, Kyle. But you're going to get a brain hemorrhage yourself if you keep thinking about it. Stan will need us to be strong for him, and we won't be able to be if we keep freaking ourselves out. You need to calm down. There's nothing we can do for him at this point."

He knows I'm right because he drops his finger and sits back in the seat, opting to stare out the window as we pull into my driveway.

"Why can't you stay at my place then?" he asks with hint of disgust in his voice. It pisses me off that my friends can't stand my place, but I can't really blame them. If I lived in luxury and slept in gold sheets, or any sheets at all, I'd complain too.

"Because we always stay at your place. And we're already here," I point out.

"Yeah but…" His defense is weak.

"Hey its not _that_ bad. My parents did win the lottery!"

He stares at me blankly. "They won a thousand dollars. And spent it the next day."

I put my car in park and turn off the ignition. "Well excuse me. Not all of us can wipe our ass with dollar bills." I open my door. "Coming?"

He reluctantly steps out, just as slowly as his other movements have been. I'm trying my best to lighten the mood, but it's so damn hard given the circumstance. He makes it even harder by acting like this.

I wait for him on my front stoop as he climbs out of the car and shuts the door. He looks up at my house as he walks toward me, though he doesn't say anything of it. "Come on," I say as I unlock the door.

We step inside together only to be greeted by the darkness. No wonder, it is about ten at night and my parents have started to turn in earlier the older they got. That doesn't explain my brother's whereabouts but I rarely give a crap about him. I search the nearby wall to flick on a light and when I do so we're bathed in cheap yellow lighting and met with the usual messy filth I like to call home sweet home.

"Want something to drink?" I offer as I set my keys on top of the old black and white television we've got, before I kick off my shoes.

He sighs as he looks around, taking my place in before his eyes land on me again. "I don't know…lemonade?"

"Got it," I say as I make my way toward the kitchen. Opening the fridge I notice the usual lack of food and frown at its contents. "Okay, well, we've got water and something that perhaps could have been a lemon in earlier years…might've also been a banana too."

"That's disgusting Kenny," he responds, and I notice that he's followed me. "What about tea or hot cocoa?"

"…What about water?" I question back.

"…Water's fine."

"Cool," I say and shut the fridge to get him some from the tap. I run us both a glass and hand his to him while gesturing with my head for us to head to my room. Not bothering to turn off the light, we maneuver our way into my room, stepping over a few unmentionable things on the way there. While he enters my room I hesitate to close my door, finding him sitting on my bed with his water resting on a crooked side table.

He's still a sorry sight to see but without wanting to dwell I find myself planting myself down next to him, gripping my own glass. We don't say anything for a long time, but when we do its Kyle that speaks up.

"Am I really spending the night at your house because Stan was in accident involving a baseball?"

"Yes," I say plainly staring down my door.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he says his tone drastically changing.

"Right, he should have hit that ball."

"No," I can see him shaking his head from my side vision. "That's not what I meant."

I attempt to cross my legs and lift a fist up to my chin in a thought-provoking position. Frowning, I prod deeper for an answer to that vague response. "What do you mean then, Kyle?"

He looks at me, as if he's studying how I'm going to react to what he says next. He searches my eyes for some sort of comfort before sighing and looking down at his shoes. "I just…I didn't see this coming."

"Accidents usually aren't planned. If they were, they'd be called purposeful acts of violence. Or something." I look up at my ceiling and notice a few cracks beginning to chip away at the plaster. Pieces of dust have already started collecting on my floor, and my eyes follow the trail of white chalky matter as I think about what I just said. "And even though we can all agree that Cartman is a malicious asshole…he didn't plan this out. There's no way he could've. Shit just…happened."

Kyle sighs and shifts position so that he looks even more forlorn and lost. "As much as I hate to let him off the hook…you're right. Cartman couldn't have predicted that _that_ would've happened, no matter how much he plotted it." He places his water on a cardboard box that serves as my bookcase right now and kicks at the carpet. Stuffing his hands into his jeans, he slumps back on the bed. "Stan's a stupid idiot for bending down like that." Suddenly he looks up at me. "Didn't he realize what the hell was gonna happen? Didn't he THINK about it for two seconds?"

I shrug. "Seems to me like he was trying to protect something that belonged to you. Again." I make no clarification of what I really mean by my statement, but Kyle glares at me just the same.

"He could've stepped on the damn phone, I wouldn't care. It'd be a hell of a lot better than sitting around waiting to see if or when he wakes up."

"Yeah…" I agree, my thoughts once again on the crumbling foundation of my parents' house.

A minute goes by before I speak again. "But Stan's always been a bit…off when it came to you."

"Off? What the hell does that mean?"

"Well you know…" I glance over at him seeing his blank expression. "Like remember the time he caused a smug alert in South Park just to get you back here from San Francisco? Or the time he called out that John whatever for making shit up about talking to ghosts and stuff? He goes way above and beyond the call of duty for you man. Picking up your precious cell phone so it wouldn't get smashed was nothing in comparison to his usual deeds."

Kyle starts to fidget next to me and I can see his pale features begin to redden. "Maybe…" he hesitates. "But I'd never want him to do anything for me that involved him getting hurt."

"He doesn't usually," I point out. "This was a one time deal."

"And what if it's the last time he ever gets to do something for me?"

"Kyle, let's not play the 'what if' game."

"I'm sorry! I just," he shakes his head before he falls backward onto my bed. I look behind me, staring at his emotion filled face.

"You just what?" I question curiously.

"If I lost him…if anything happened to him…it wouldn't be just losing a friend, Kenny. It wouldn't even just be losing a best friend."

He's completely avoiding my gaze and instead he's casting his eyes at the same ceiling I was studying earlier. He's having a mini battle inside his head. I can see it.

But I know exactly what he's about to say. And I commend him for having the balls to get out there and actually do it. After all, I've known about those two before they even did. It was only a matter of time before they realized it themselves.

I could easily finish his thoughts for him. Instead, I do something I know I need to do: listen. "It wouldn't?' I ask, playing dumb.

He sighs in exasperation, bringing his hands to his forehead and pulling on his face until they fall back at his sides. Suddenly, he sits back upright. "Ken, I've…we've…been hiding something."

"Really?" I say, overenthusiastically. He's gotta catch on that I knew. Maybe it'll make it easier on the guy.

He nods his head shakily and turns away, as if mustering enough courage to tell me some ginormous secret that will shatter his world. "Stan and I…we've sorta been…well we've been…" He takes a deep breath. "We're closer than what you think."

I can tell he's struggling. I'll send him a lifeline. "And how do you know how close I think you two are?"

He stares at me with uncertainty for a few seconds before continuing. "Well you…you don't really know…" He trails off, searching my eyes again. "Do you?"

I scoff. "Kyle, you and Stan have been in love with each other since the first day you laid eyes on each other. How am I _not_ gonna know what's finally going on?"

His eyes widen with horror. "You _KNOW_!"

I nod reassuringly. "Its not a surprise."

His breath pace is quickening. "Shit shit shit. Nobody was supposed to know!"

I casually drape an arm around his shoulders. "Relax, dude. Its no big deal."

He snorts. "Easy for you to say. You don't have a mother who'd hog-tie your feet up if she found out you're dating your best friend. And you don't have to go to school in a pla-"

"Kyle," I say sternly. "I said RELAX. It's not a big deal because honestly, I'm the only one who knows the big secret."

"…Huh? What makes you so sure?"

"Because I'm Kenny. And I sense these things before they happen. I can smell it in the air. Its my super power."

He gives me such a pained expression that I can't help but laugh, even given the situation. "Look, I know because I'm around you guys all the time. I can practically imagine what the both of you will say before you say it. Hiding things from me…that's damn near impossible."

"But then Cartman," he starts worriedly, and I'm quick to cut him off.

"Wouldn't notice a thing even if you guys made out in front of him. For a smart guy, and I say that with regret, he's a huge idiot about things like this."

Kyle looks so relieved I almost want to laugh again, but don't. He's got valid reasons for being a little freaked over the idea of Cartman knowing. It might not be coolest thing if his mom found out, or if things went through the gossip mill at school, but nothing would be worse than wondering what Cartman would do with that sort of information.

"That's true…and you're okay with the idea of me and Stan?"

"Of course," I say gently. "Who else could better compliment you than your best friend? Though now that you know I know I'm gonna miss a few things."

"What do you mean?" he asks in confusion.

"I'm not going to get to walk between you two and pretend that I don't know you two are giving each other lustful eyes behind my back. No more watching you both stumble over each other and then laughing about it when I get home. No more pretending you guys aren't holding hands under a table at restaurants and no more catching you guys making out in bathroom stalls and having to steer people away."

"We've never done that!" He almost yells, clearly embarrassed.

"Yeah I know, I just figured you'd eventually get there and that I'd eventually have to do that."

Kyle rolls his shoulder, and indicator he doesn't want my arm on it anymore. I smirk and let my arm drop back to my side. "It was funny though, watching you two."

"I'm glad you find our attempts to hide our relationship amusing," he seethes.

I give Kyle a grin before a yawn escapes me, urging me to look at the small digital clock in my room. "Ugh, shit its late," I say noting the time. It's already nearing midnight. I stand up from my bed to cross my room and dig through my lopsided drawers. Pulling out some worn shirts and a couple of shorts, I toss one of each at Kyle.

He changes into them wordlessly and I do the same, cramming the clothes I wore earlier in the day to the side next to an overfilling hamper. Once changed, I nudge Kyle over to the side so that I can climb in the bed comfortably to lie down.

He doesn't move from the edge, and rather than get himself comfortable, he stares at me.

"You don't have an extra sleeping bag?" He asks.

"I have a bed," I say.

"…What if your parents walk-in in the middle of the night?"

"They won't," I assure him.

"But what if they do?"

I give Kyle a calculating look and decide to be perfectly honest with him. "They'll assume we had a long night of fucking and leave."

I'm not sure if he's reddening again from embarrassment, anger, shock, or fear. Either way when I hold up the covers for him to climb in he does so silently.

"Are you sure you're not," he starts quietly and once more I cut him off. Only this time it's by dropping the covers and sliding a bit closer to him.

"Kyle, our best friend since we could barely walk and your boyf-significant other," I correct myself when he turns and glares at me. "Might be spending this entire night fighting to stay alive and you're asking me if us sharing a bed is gay?"

He looks at me silently before turning his head upward and eventually settling his head on my shoulder. "Good point," he whispers.

"First thing tomorrow," I go on. "We'll head to the hospital."

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

"Me either," I say after a moment.

I hear him release a long quiet sigh to match my own. It's going to be a long night, and tomorrow is going to be a long day. I can feel it in my bones. I didn't tell Kyle this, but for as much as I was saying that Stan'll be okay, I'm having my doubts. There's no way he's bouncing back from what happened. The only thing we have to look forward to tomorrow is finding out the damage that's been done to his brain and if there's anything they can do to fix it. And they have to be able to fix it, because Kyle and I, even Cartman, wouldn't be complete without our calm voice of reason that is Stan Marsh.

"What if-" Kyle starts.

"Kyle, shut up," I say, doing all I can to comfort him and knowing I'm still failing.

I can feel him settle down a bit, nuzzling his head into my shoulder ever so gently. "Thanks Ken. You're a true friend," he tells me, and I secretly get all warm inside. Not because I'm sharing a bed with him—that is Stan and his thing, not mine—but because I feel the same way, and I know we're gonna need each other that much more tomorrow morning. I lay there rubbing Kyle's arm up and down thinking about what has happened, the crazy events running through my head.

What a fucked up day.

"Goodnight Kyle," I whisper as I feel his breathing fall into a pattern at last. I knew I wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep if he didn't calm down. But now that he's zoning out, I think it's my turn to hit the hay. We'll see what tomorrow brings. Good news, bad news, any news at all. I kind of have the feeling that Stan's gonna be down and out for a long time…if he wakes up at all. I can only hope.

I tilt my head to peek at the sleeping guy next to me. Kyle's world just got shattered, and I know he can't possibly be as peaceful inside as he looks right now. For his sake I hope that our worst fears are only within our imagination. Because if we lose Stan now…I have a feeling I'll never see Kyle happy again.

- IBB & FG


	2. Forgetting the Orange Juice

**AN: **We give you a taste and then we seemingly vanish…yeah, sorry about that. But we ARE still writing this story, and enjoying every minute of it! Life's just been really crazy for the both of us, and we're just trying to settle it all down. We'll never stop writing, because it's what we both love to do, so no worries there! Anyway, enjoy chapter 2!

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**Parauni  
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**Chapter 2 - Forgetting the Orange Juice**

Kyle's cell phone ringer is what woke us up the next morning. It was about six in the morning and it was his mother demanding to know where he was. It was then that it occurred to us that he hadn't even left her a message about his whereabouts on a school night. The events with Stan completely took over our thoughts, so it really wasn't surprising we forgot about a little thing like checking in with his mom. I could hear her bitching about how irresponsible he was, and that the second he got home, yadda, yadda, yadda. Kyle just dropped his phone beside his head and let her rant, but eventually she realized he was being unresponsive and demanded his explanation. He merely passed the phone over to me before turning over.

I gave him a depressed look before taking the phone. She wasn't happy to get me, but unlike Kyle, I didn't let her go on and on and was quick to inform her of what happened. She got quiet after that and listened, while asking a few questions about Stan and how we were holding up. She still pointed out that we should have called, but that's Sheila Broflovski for you. Eventually she let us go when I told her we were going to be heading to the hospital. I didn't give her time to complain before hanging up and turning off Kyle's phone.

"Hey," I said over to him. "Should we get going?"

Kyle was quiet for a second, still facing away from me before he ended up nodding and sitting up. We changed, gave a hello to my bewildered parents, gave no explanations, and headed straight for the hospital. But the second we arrived in the waiting room we were in the previous night, we noticed that neither of the Marsh's were there, and the receptionist wouldn't give us any information about Stan's condition.

We were at a loss then. We were in yesterday's clothes, neither of us had bothered with hair or showers, and if I looked anything like Kyle, I must have looked a mess. Kyle called Stan's house, but no one picked up. We honestly could do nothing but go home and wait for a call from his parents. So after all that, the disappointment of learning nothing, still having to be kept waiting for answers, talking with Kyle's goddamn mother, all I could do was drop Kyle off at home.

"Want to stay over?" He had mumbled to me.

"Nah," I had said, shaking my head. "Think I'll just go home…get some more sleep. You're a crappy bed partner," I tried to make it sounded lighthearted, but the tone was half assed and Kyle only nodded. I watched as he shuffled himself up his walkway before walking into the house after giving me a pathetic excuse for a wave.

I thought for sure we'd get a call in a few hours, a day tops. But neither of us heard a word from Mr. or Mrs. Marsh until four days later.

Kyle and I were trying our best to keep sane by watching pointless reruns of our old favorite Terrance and Phillip when his phone rang. It was like we hadn't heard that ringer in days, because both of us jumped to the phone. We just knew who it was, and neither of us could stand the thought of not knowing any longer.

"Mrs. Marsh?" Kyle had questioned, though he knew it was her from the display on his caller ID.

"Hello Kyle," I heard her as clearly as you can possibly hear someone when you are desperately trying to listen in on a small little earpiece that's about 2 inches from your ear.

"Kenny is here too," he notified her. I was thankful for that. Sometimes I wonder if she'd have even made an additional call to me if I weren't in the room. I didn't have a cell phone, and on the off chance our phone wasn't occupied by our awesome dial-up Internet connection, we didn't have an answering machine to leave a message either.

"Hello to you too, Kenny," she added. "Boys, Dr. Rivers, Stan's neurologist, has asked me to come down to the hospital today. He's made a preliminary diagnosis about Stan's condition and would like to show me some of the results from the X-rays they have taken. Randy has gone to pick up Shelley from school because her car has broken down and…well I just really need someone to come with me."

I paused in expectation, knowing that she only wanted Kyle. But right now he and I are kind of the package deal, so she'd have to take me along too.

"Definitely," Kyle had said without her saying anything more.

"Yeah, Mrs. M. No problem," I piped up. I needed to hear about Stan's condition just as much as Kyle did. This whole thing was driving me crazy.

We waited for Mrs. Marsh's car to pull up in the driveway before we solemnly walked out to the curb and jumped in. On the drive over, the air was thick with questions that no one was willing to ask. And answers that we didn't want to look for.

It didn't take the doctor very long to meet with us. I remember he pulled us into his little corner office and popped up the X-Ray on a backlit screen. And I remember seeing the damage that ball had made to Stan's fragile skull.

"Is there any news on his condition?" Sharon had asked with hesitance. She knew the pictures didn't look promising.

The doctor paced back and then forth before taking a seat at his desk. "Mrs. Marsh, your son has suffered from a severe head trauma. It's remarkable that we were able to get him out of surgery alive. But I'll be honest; we don't anticipate a full recovery for quite a while…if ever."

"What does that mean?" I found myself asking.

The doctor turned to me and frowned. Probably because there were two teenage boys in his office that weren't related to the patient.

Mrs. Marsh seemed to have noticed his hesitation and brought the doctors attention back to her. "The boys are like family," she calmly informed him. Though he didn't look convinced, he at least answered my question.

"There are a lot of problems that come hand in hand with brain trauma. Normally with head injuries, the patient wakes up with quite a few disabilities. They tend to have a lot of problems with their senses, like blurred vision and muted hearing. They also have trouble with communication…but that's just with mild to moderate cases. Stan has a severe case. He's been unresponsive to many tests, it's hard to wake him and when he is awake he exhibits a number of the disabilities found in the milder cases. Sensory, and communication aside, Stan is having an extremely hard time with his cognitive skills. He-"

"Wait, his what?" I interrupted. I was trying to take in everything the doctor was saying, and I was…but it was all bad news that just kept getting worse.

"His thinking, his memory…reasoning…" Kyle answered for me, his tone completely dead while his eyes stared down the doctor.

"Right," he nodded. "It's still pretty early, but since the baseball hit the side of his head, his temporal lobe, we're diagnosing a mix of retrograde and anterograde amnesia. When he first woke up, we asked him if he remembered what had happened and where he was. He didn't, and with further questioning it became apparent that he doesn't have all his memories."

"So," Mrs. Marsh spoke up slowly. "He's forgotten everything?"

We all watched the doctor shake his head. "This is past ordinary forgetfulness, and the type of amnesia you're thinking of wouldn't occur in Stan's situation. With the type he has, it means he's unable to recall certain memories"

"So what _does_ he remember?" I asked.

The doctor looked over at me again before shrugging. "That sort of thing is easier to determine by family and friends. Again, he's not in the best condition and communication is very difficult for him."

At that moment I felt Kyle lean discreetly against me. And it might have been discreet, but I felt the full impact of his body weight. "Is there any good news?" He asked just above a whisper.

Dr. Rivers looked disheartened but he met all of our eyes and gave a nod. "His spinal cord is in tact…and he's alive. From here on out though, we go day-by-day in monitoring his progress. The brain is a tricky organ and with head injuries…we just never know what might happen. He's stable now, but tomorrow could be a different story."

From there I completely tuned out. How could I not when the doctor was telling us that Stan just might not be Stan? That he might have actually forgotten who we were. Who Kyle was? Eventually Mrs. Marsh was allowed to see Stan but Kyle and I weren't…which pissed me off. But there wasn't anything we could do about it, even when Mrs. Marsh told the doctor she wouldn't have minded.

He was strict with telling her no. Something about too much too fast. For two long damn weeks we weren't allowed to see him. Being at home was hell, school was hell, and life in general was shit. It was all Kyle and I could do to not go bat shit insane with worry. More than once I wondered if we could break into the hospital. I mean, fuck! We just wanted to SEE him! It's not like we wanted to take him out for the day and go frolicking through a damn meadow!

But while I got angrier and angrier, Kyle got more closed off and more depressed. He hardly talked, and when he did it was usually only to me, and even that consisted of more noises than words.

So now that we've finally got the almighty God like doctor's approval to see him, Kyle's acting like a nervous twink about ready to go on his first date.

"M-maybe we should wait another day," he's saying to me as we walk into the hospital together.

"What?!" I almost yell at him.

"Well, maybe he's not ready to see us," he continues in his uncertain and shaky voice.

I stop where I'm at to massage my right temple in frustration. I can't take this. Not now. "Kyle we've been waiting for this day for too damn long. The doc said we should reintroduce ourselves, and whatever memories we have with him, slowly, so we're not setting up camp in his room or anything. If he doesn't like us being there, we'll jet." I try to calm him down, but his nerves are starting to rub off on me.

He stares up at the tall lobby ceiling and paces a few steps. "You make it sound so much better Ken. 'If he doesn't like us being there'. If he doesn't like us being there it means he can't fucking REMEMBER us!" he screams as he comes toward me with outstretched arms. "And I for one, don't want to rush him into something he's not ready for."

"Dude, he's gonna remember us. We're his life, not just a single memory. And I bet if he could, he'd be harassing the doc as much as we have about letting us visit." I drop my hands onto Kyle's shoulders and give him a mini-massage. "Relax man, we'll be fine. It's time to go see him. You know you want to. So stop worrying about it so much and let's go!"

I pat his shoulders and drop my hands as I walk forward again. Kyle reluctantly begins to follow, and by the time I'm near the elevators he's no longer walking behind me like I'm the mother goose and he's my baby. He jogs in front of me with a speed that I can't compete with and presses the up button about twenty times. Guess he just needed a swift kick in the ass.

"What should I say to him?" he asks mostly himself as I watch the elevator doors come together so slowly that I see a snail pass by before they close. "Should I…well no his mom will probably be in so I shouldn't do anything like that."

"Plus I don't have my camera," I add with a smirk. Kyle scowls at me, but behind the snarl is a glow that hasn't seen the light of day since that fateful afternoon.

"Shut up, Kenny. Just because you know now doesn't mean you can exploit us. You know Cartman would tear us to shreds if he-"

"If he knew he was actually telling the truth through all his bullshit? Again, relax Kyle. He doesn't know shit and he won't know it either. You're safe." I lean over closely. "Just make you wait till Stan gets home to greet him properly. You don't want those surveillance tapes to turn into the year's hottest sex scandal."

"Shut UP, Kenny!" he repeats, his face growing redder than that hair of his. "We aren't like that…we…"

_Ding_. Before I have time to realize what floor we're on, Kyle has pried open the doors and dashed wildly down the hallway to the ICU receptionist desk.

She doesn't seem to notice either of us, even with Kyle panting over her work area.

"The room of Stan Marsh please?" he asks.

She glances up at him before looking over at me. "Family?"

I nod. "Triplets."

The receptionist doesn't look amused and neither does Kyle. "Fraternal," I add with a smile.

"Room 551," she says, handing him two clip on badges with the room number on it, and goes back to looking at whatever she was doing before we came up.

Kyle doesn't waste another second to put the badge on before he's waiting by the door for her to buzz us in. At the first sound, he peels down the hallway in the direction of a sign that points us in the general direction. Not that I'm far behind. As the numbers grow bigger, 535, 537, 539, I start to get a lodge in my throat. We're really going to see Stan for the first time in weeks and I have no idea what to expect. I don't know what he'll look like…if he'll even look different. How he'll honestly react, because even though I claimed Stan couldn't ever forget us…it's hard not to think pessimistically.

I must be feeding my thoughts into Kyle's because he's getting slower and slower with every step and with every room we pass.

545, 547, 549…

We both stop outside his door and stare at it. From the outside I can hear the distinct sounds of talking, though it's impossible to tell who's talking and who isn't.

"They're talking, that's good right?" Kyle asks.

"Come on," I say. I feel Kyle tense at my side and I grab his hand and squeeze it. Not just to reassure him, but to reassure myself. He gives me a grateful look and a quivering smile. I lightly tap on the door and the voices on the other side stop. There are a few sounds of things being moved around before the door opens and Mrs. Marsh stands before us.

"Boys," she smiles at us warmly. I notice she glances down at our entwined hands but she says nothing of it. If anything she's glowing a bit more before moving aside and gesturing for us to come in. "Stan, its Kyle and Kenny," she announces before either of us can even see him.

Once he does come in to sight, Kyle drops my hand and tentatively walks to his bedside.

Immediately I fade into the background with Mrs. M, who senses that we should really be doing this alone. She leans over and whispers in my ear, "I'll be in the lobby if anyone needs me." Speaking up so Stan can hear, she practically yells, "I'll be back, sweetie! Have fun with your friends."

And like that, she's out of sight.

I take a moment to pass to the other side of the room and get a better look at Stan. He's all packaged up in a white robe with silhouettes of a thousand little blue birds in flight printed all over. His hands look swollen and veiny, and a small brownish yellow bruise has started to form where a thin needle is taped into his skin. I follow the tube with my eyes all the way up to a bag that is dripping every second or so. Several other bags hang from the same metal hanger, and they are all dripping some clear fluid that leads into a tube connected to Stan's hand. My eyes shift to his face, and I notice he isn't as clean kempt as usual. Stan was always the manly one of the group, what with his hairy stubble that would grow back in an hour. It looks like hasn't shaved in months, even though its probably only been a few days.

"Stan?" Kyle's voice comes out meek and distant.

Stan turns to him and smiles. "Hey Kyle." But even his voice doesn't sound like him, and Kyle immediately shrinks away.

I, on the other hand, take the opportunity to walk up to my friend and pat his leg. "Hell of a scare you gave us, dude. How you feeling?"

"I have, my head hurts," he responds before looking over to Kyle.

"I bet it does, buddy," I continue when Kyle says nothing. "But they're fixing you right up and you should be able to think pretty clearly soon. You might not remember like basic math or anything, but who needs that shit anyway?"

Stan's grin widens as his head falls back into his pillow, as if he strained his neck by lifting his head. "Funny."

"So Kyle and I have wanted to visit you since the beginning, but the doc wouldn't let us. You told him to keep us away, didn't you?" I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"There were tests. Lots of, from the doctor. I don't know why though…"

"They were probably trying to help you out," I try to answer helpfully.

"Hm," he responds and closes his eyes. There's this long reign of silence that almost never passes over the three of us. With us, someone is always talking more than they ought to be…its strange being surrounded by still air.

With Stan clearly being unable to string together a normal sentence, and Kyle looking like he's in another world I feel like I have to say something. Anything. So since Stan's eyes are still closed, I ask the obvious. "Tired, dude?"

They snap open at once and he looks at me. But it's weird…because even though it's Stan, I can see something missing in his eyes. Maybe that's just poetic shit on my part, but I feel like something really isn't there. He's in front of us, just not completely.

Stan doesn't answer my question. If anything it seems like my basic question is making him nervous. He's looking around the room as if searching for someone, and he's starting to twist his fingers together. It's so similar to Tweek's behavior that I can't stop myself from reaching out and stopping his fingers.

That was maybe a bad idea.

You'd think I stabbed him the look he's giving me. He'd shrink and disappear into the mattress if he could, rather he presses himself away from me and winces at my contact. Not knowing what the hell to do I look up at Kyle to see what his reaction is, but he's no help.

"Kyle fuck," I mutter. "Say something to him."

He glares at me like I've just told his most embarrassing secret, but I shrug it off and instead choose to stare at him to emphasize how quiet it is in here. I raise my eyebrows when all he does is stare back.

I growl under my breath and shake my head. Way to go, Kyle. Greet your boyfriend by saying nothing at all. Dumbass.

I fake a yawn. "I'm pretty tired myself. Mind if I just squeeze in right beside you?" I ask Stan teasingly, but Kyle doesn't find it very funny. I ignore his look of death and saunter up to Stan's bed, pretending to lift a leg and pull back some covers. Again, Stan looks at me like I'm clinically insane.

Sighing deeply, I drop my shoulders and prop myself on the wall near his bed with my hands shoved in my pockets. I wish the mood in here would lift so I could stop making an ass out of myself. God knows what is running through Stan's mind right now. Or Kyle's, for that matter.

After an eternity of deafening silence, I begin to tap my fingers on the surface of the wall. Stan looks up at me before zoning out again, but in between the taps I hear him mutter something about being glad to see us.

Kyle, of course, perks up at this statement, and walks over so close to the bed, he's practically in it. Kneeling down, he softly embraces Stan's free hand and brings his lips close to the skin's surface.

"I'm so happy you're here," he whispers before kissing Stan's hand.

…And something about the way Stan flinches—how his eyebrows furrow and his eyes immediately pop open—tells me that he might've not wanted that. And something about the confusion in his eyes as Kyle releases his grip tells me that this could be a problem.

Both Kyle and I watch as Stan decidedly buries his hands under his covers. He even goes so far as to bring them up closer to his head, kind of like he's warding us off. But as Kyle sits himself up and places himself on the edge of the bed I'm starting to get the idea that he didn't see that flinch. Either that, or he doesn't want to.

"I was so damn worried," Kyle mutters, and I watch as he tucks Stan in further. As if Stan had pulled up those covers simply to warm himself up. Kyle releases a fake laugh, "I was thinking the worst. Thinking you'd forget everything about me," he smiles widely, and while Stan stares back, his eyes slide over to me.

At the look of them I know those eyes are begging me to help him understand what's going on. I wouldn't have believed it possible…but while Stan seems to remember me and Kyle, he doesn't seem to remember what he and Kyle had.

"Kyle?"

"Hm?" He looks up at me and I hesitate with my request. "I think Stan needs some orange juice. Don't you think you need some orange juice Stan?" I ask him.

"What's…" he trails off when I glance at him. I'm only slightly disturbed that he was going to ask me what orange juice was.

"That's probably a good idea though," Kyle is saying as he stands himself up. "Vitamin C and all that. I'll be just a second," he adds as he heads for the door. When he reaches it he pauses before turning to look back at Stan. "God I'm so glad you're okay…"

With that he leaves, and I meet the eyes of the guy I've known since I was a kid. I don't have much time before Kyle gets back, but I've gotta ask without him being here. Because there's no way I've guessed incorrectly. His look when his hand was kissed told me everything.

"You don't remember him, do you?" I pose the question to Stan and try to sound sympathetic rather than accusing.

"He…my hand," Stan pulls it out from under his bleached hospital blankets and stares it like it grew a head. "Kyle kisses often my hand? He never…didn't he? He…" Stan starts to rub the formerly kissed hand with his other one furiously. As if he's trying to rub off the gesture.

I sigh and force my own hands on his to stop the rubbing. Before he rubs his hands right off and he has nothing but stubs. "Stop it dude," I tell him, lifting my hands right off when he recoils once again. I'm getting pretty fucking sick of this touch-me-and-I-want-to-kill-you response.

"Kenny, you not, me too. Right?"

I have no idea what he just said. But I nod and say, "right." I look around the room, trying to decide how I'm going to break this to him. Or what I'm going to say to Kyle. Shit, he could've done some permanent damage with that move back there. I know he's all happy Stan's "okay" and don't have his head on straight, but damn! In my off time I've read up enough about all this business I _know_ not to make any sudden movements, any signs of affection unless wanted, and don't get all mushy on someone when they can't remember your relationship in the first place! Jesus, Kyle. What am I gonna say to you?

"Nice TV," I tell Stan, noting the flat screen on top of a dresser on the opposite side of his private room. These ICU rooms are nicely equipped. They have more here in this room than I do in my entire house. "Did you catch up on any ball when you were out?"

Stan raises his eyebrow and snorts in a half-assed, half-drugged sort of way. "No time," he tells me.

"Too many tests, I'm sure. But you still like baseball, right?"

To this, Stan points to his head, as if he's a little kid and connecting the word "baseball" with the injury the baseball caused. I feel like I'm talking to my two-year-old nephew.

"The ball hurt me," he explains clearly after a long pause, and I frown. When is Kyle getting back?

Not that I don't love being here with Stan, but I'm starting to realize how hard this is all gonna be. Not just for him, but for all of us. Getting used to how he strings sentences together is like listening to some crappy music your sibling loves. You don't like it, you never will, but they've got the remote.

"Kenny?"

I raise an eyebrow in question as he calls out for me. "Exactly ball…and my head, I, what-" Stan stops mid…well its not really mid sentence since he was barely forming one, but he stops midway through to release a frustrated noise. He slams his fist against the edge of his bed and for the first time since I've been here, he's actually looking pissed off.

He looks to me hopefully as if I'm supposed to know what he was trying to say, but all I can give him is a sheepish I-don't-know-what-you-were-trying-to-say look.

I jump back in disbelief as Stan grabs the nearby water cup on the side table and hawks it across the room.

"Dude, WHAT?!" I demand.

"Head! Exactly!" He's pointing at his head, but I still don't know what he wants. It's like we're playing some fucked up game of charades and Stan sucks at it.

"I don't know what you're trying to say!" I bite back just as fiercely.

Almost as quickly as the anger and frustration came, he slumps back into his pillows and avoids eye contact with me. I sigh and resume the position I was in earlier as well. "Sorry I yelled," I say resolutely.

"Done," he whispers. "Done talking, done. No more, Kyle go away, you go away please."

"Right," I say hanging my head in slight shame. "But we'll be back," I let him know. He nods as if he's okay with it. Something in his eyes clouds over and as I start to attempt to decipher it, he saves me the trouble.

"Tell Kyle kiss no, okay Kenny? Weird…"

"Yeah, I'll let him know," I murmur and head for the door. "I'll send your mom back in though alright?"

--

"Why'd you tell me he was sleeping? I saw him wide awake Kenny!" Kyle yells at me for the sixtieth time as I pay my parking garage fee and roll out onto the street. He's mildly miffed that I pulled him away with the pathetic excuse that Stan fell asleep on me before he even came back in the room. And now he won't listen to logic. And he won't lower the volume of his voice. And I'm starting to hear a distant buzzing sound in the inside of my ear.

He grabs my arm, but I yank it away before he causes any damage. "Kyle, I'm driving!" I state as calmly as possible.

"Turn the fuck around and let me at least say goodbye!"

I slam on the brakes at a red light and turn to him. "Waking him up for that could be detrimental to his process, Kyle. You don't want to fuck his brain up any more, _do_ you?"

That shuts him up. But only temporarily. His rage is back building as he sits in my passenger seat with folded arms and breathing so loud its purposeful. The way he's staring at the window at the nothingness we drive by…I'm waiting for the rest of what he has to say.

In the meantime, I've got to think. Think of a way to break it to him, to stall him, to…prevent him from showing any sign of "I love you" toward Stan. How can I possibly stop him from doing it without letting him know I had to stop him? I can't bring myself to telling him that Stan doesn't _remember_ that critical detail. It'd break him again, and he's far too fragile…he might be irreparable this time.

"We can go see him in a few days, Kyle," I speak up, trying desperately to change the subject and ease into this whole tricky business. "Until then, you should relax. He remembers you."

Kyle slouches against the back of the seat to pout. "Yeah…" he glances at the window. "You're right." He suddenly seems to brighten and I can feel him smiling at me. "He's a little off, but I'm sure he'll be okay. It's going to be a long recovery for him, but I'll be there for him and so will you."

"Right," I nod and try to smile along with him. But I'm finding it pretty fucking difficult.

"I never told you this Kenny, but I had this really messed up dream where Stan actually didn't remember me at all. I walked into his room and he just stared at me, demanding to know who I was. And I kept telling him and trying to remind him of everything we've always done together but he just could not remember. I feel horrible saying this, but for me, the worst is over. The hardest part about all this was walking into that room and thinking I'd be met with a pair of unfamiliar blank eyes. But they knew who I was…" he suddenly chuckles and I can see him fidget.

"You had no idea how much I had to hold myself back, especially with his mom still in the room. All I wanted to do was…" Kyle trails off. I glance over at him and notice him blush. "But I figured I shouldn't just jump on him like that you know? That I should give him a bit more time to recover before I start showering him with affections," Kyle laughs to himself and I do my best to join him but it comes out short.

This sucks. I don't want to be the one who has to tell him he's already given Stan too much affection. But I HAVE to be the one, and that puts me in a tight spot.

For all his nerves, and feelings of relief at seeing Stan alive it's pretty obvious that Kyle is still tense as hell about the situation.

I just don't know how I'm gonna break it to him…

And I'm starting to think that I might not have to. I've bought myself a couple of days before we see Stan again. Maybe this will all blow over. I know Stan's condition is serious, but surely over the course of time he'll remember his and Kyle's relationship on his own. I'm sure Mrs. M will be talking and talking about Kyle, and I'm sure that'll jog something in his mind.

Because really, it's Kyle, and there's no one Stan loves more than him. And a person just doesn't forget the one they love.

- FG & IBB


	3. Of Rainbows and Pumpkinbear

**AN: **Let's see…4 months huh? Ouch. Sorry guys, we know, we know! It's been so long since we last updated! Life for us both really is crazy, and to be perfectly honest I don't think either of us see it slowing down anytime soon. Rest assured though, we are still writing, we're still friends and we're not going to go MIA on you guys or each other. So with that said, please enjoy the newest chapter.  


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**Parauni  


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**Chapter 3 – Of Rainbows and Pumpkinbear**

"Hello?"

"Mrs. M, hey its Kenny," I announce as I listen for Kyle. He just walked into the bathroom, and he says he's ready to visit Stan. And I've been racking my brain on how to let him do that without him setting off a can of worms that could destroy him…so Mrs. Marsh is my best bet.

"Kenny, what can I help you with?" Her words are kind and warm. They soothe my nerves for the time being. Keeping Kyle away from the hospital has been hell. But I'm starting to miss Stan myself, so I agreed we should go. I just don't think it's a good idea to go alone.

"Well, I was wondering if you were planning on heading up to see Stan today," I tell her, anxiously scratching my neck and eyeing the bathroom door like a hawk.

"Actually, yes, Randy and I were going to leave in about an hour." Her voice changes to concern. "Why, would you like some alone time with him today?"

"No!" I blurt immediately. "I mean…I think it would be best for you guys to be there when we go. You know, in case Stan needs help remembering some things."

That is the lamest excuse I've ever made on the fly, I don't even buy it. But she doesn't question me. "Well, alright, we could do that. Do you need a ride?"

"No thank you, I'm driving Kyle here in a few minutes."

"Oh, okay then. We'll see you there."

I hear the toilet flush. "Hey Mrs. M, would you be able to come sooner than an hour? It'd be nice to all walk in at the same time."

"…Okay, Kenny. I'll see what I can do. Either way, we'll see you there, okay? Hang in there," she says, and the line goes dead just as Kyle strolls out of the bathroom.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, he looks around before seeing me. I quickly place his phone onto its receiver and stare at him innocently.

"Who'd you call?" he asks curiously.

"No one important."

He eyes me suspiciously and walks over to the phone I just hung up. "I could just star 69 your ass, you know."

Kyle's mood has been significantly lifted since our first visit to Stan that I don't want it to end. "Go ahead," I challenge. "Then you'll have to tell the police what you were doing last night during the hours of 10pm-12am."

He scoffs. "No thanks. So, are you ready to go?"

I need to stall him. Mrs. M didn't sound very promising on getting to the hospital ASAP, and I won't risk it. I can't have Kyle and Stan alone in the same room. But how do I distract him yet again? This is starting to annoy me.

"Oh yeah, but hey you know what we should do before we go?" I ask, wondering the same thing to myself.

He looks at me curiously and I start to feel myself panic. Just what _should_ we do?! I berate myself. "We should uh…" OH! "We should bring over some pictures and crap."

The second I say that, I see Kyle's eyes twinkle. Yes!

"That's probably a good idea," he mutters. "It could help him out."

"Definitely," I nod in agreement. "And it's still pretty early, we could drive back to your place and pick up a couple of things."

"You don't think pictures would be too much too soon?" He wonders.

"Photos? No way, stuff like that is supposed to help smooth the process. He can look at them when we're not around too. It might help him to study them when he doesn't feel like we're all hovering over him, hoping he'll remember something."

"That's true…" Kyle glances down my hallway thoughtfully. "But we're already closer to the hospital than my place so we can bring those next time."

"But the sooner the better right?"

"Well I guess…" he bites his lip in concentration and I can tell he's actually fighting with himself over the thought of visiting Stan even a few minutes later.

"Kyle, it won't take long. We'll just grab an album and head straight to the hospital from your house."

He drops his shoulders in defeat. "Fine."

Trying to ease his mind with this new brilliant idea of mine, I clasp his shoulder with my hand. "Anything to help jog Stan's memory, right?"

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to perk up at this statement. _Yes_! I'm so good at convincing people to do things; I should make it my job. Instead of a negotiator, I'm the convince…inator. Yeah. And I'll convince girls to go out with me. And the town to love me. And worship me. And…

"Well let's get going then!" Kyle demands, pushing me down the hallway and the stairs in front of him. "We're wasting time."

Exactly my plan, dear Kyle. "Sorry," I mumble, reaching out to the old crate we use as a table beside our front door. I fish out my keys out of the plastic bowl and check myself out in the rust-speckled mirror. Kyle does the same, straightening himself up to look presentable for his man before grabbing my arm and pulling me out the front door.

I pretend to fumble with my keys for a bit, giving Kyle the impression that I'm a dumbass and don't know which key belongs to my house. I only have two on my chain. He frowns at me and I inwardly scold myself. Come on, Ken. You're not supposed to act _drunk_.

I give Kyle a half-smile. "Sorry. Our lock breaks sometimes." This much is true.

He of course looks at me in shame. His poor, poor friend. Without another word, I lock the house, walk over to my car, and get in. Kyle does the same, and we drive over to his house in the same silence. He practically propels the car forward by jumping up and down on his seat nervously and shaking every limb he's got. This boy is so excited to see the one he thinks loves him the way he used to…sooner or later he's gonna find out things aren't the same anymore.

But, as it's best to not think of these things when I don't have to. Instead, I focus on the current situation. When we arrive at Kyle's place he bolts into his house, barely even letting me turn off my car. I slowly follow behind him and let myself in since he's left the door hanging open.

I don't see him as I glance around his living room, but I can hear the heavy steps above my head. No doubt he's tearing apart his bedroom to find something. I can't let him just choose anything though, and I'm quick to run up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

What I see when I enter his room almost makes me want to laugh. I don't know why I thought that Kyle—Kyle of all people—would just pick the first group of pictures he found. He's sitting on his floor surrounded by pictures and memorabilia of him and Stan, Stan and me, and the three of us together, frowning at it all.

"What do you think I should take?" he questions, looking up at me. I crouch down and pick up the first picture my hand finds. It's of one from a few years back of Stan and Kyle grinning like the buffoons they tend to be around each other.

"Hm," I answer. "What's this one from?" I ask, holding up the picture for Kyle to see.

"That's from when Stan went to that math meet I had back in sophomore year. It was the championships. I invited you too, but you said you'd rather watch the paint in your house mold over than attend a math meet."

"Oh yeah," I say, vaguely remembering that.

Kyle's giving me a half smile as he glances around him again. "Do you think…" he pauses to stand up and walk over to his desk. I watch as he rummages around the bottom drawer, digging for something that is obviously meant to be hidden. When he turns around to sit back down he gives me an awkward look.

"What?" I ask.

Without a sound he hands me the couple pictures in his hand he must have grabbed from his desk. I take them and try not to cringe. It's not that I've got anything against my friends being gay for each other, but there's no way I can allow Stan to see these pictures. Pictures of him and Kyle, clearly out on some sort of date that must have taken place in North Park. In one it's just them smiling, but that's where all the innocence goes. There's another of them kissing with Stan holding out the camera, and another of them looking so painfully in love that I shove the pictures back at Kyle.

"I think that'll be a bit much Kyle," I mutter to him.

"But that was our first real date," he says, while not looking at me. "He's gotta remember that, don't you think?"

Fuck. Why did I think this was a good idea again?

"Let's…let's not bombard him with major memories right now," I stammer, crouching back down to the ground and sorting through some insignificant-looking pictures.

Kyle bends down beside me. "Wouldn't those be the best to help him remember? I mean…times that meant the most to him should be kept in a lock box somewhere deep inside his brain. I bet we just need to figure out how to unlock it, then maybe everything will come back to him."

His words are so hopeful, it crushes me that what he's saying couldn't be further from the truth. I sigh, looking down at a picture of us three as kids in our baseball uniforms. We _hated_ baseball when we were younger. Yet somehow Stan fell in love with the sport later on in life.

"What about this one?" I ask, desperately trying to change subjects. "Its just us playing the sport we loved the most."

"Ken, we hated playing baseball," Kyle corrects me, obviously not picking up on my sarcasm. "Wouldn't that sort of memory confuse him?"

I slowly nod. "Yeah okay." I sift through them and hold up a picture of the three of us at Funland. I reach for another one with the three of us at Stark's Pond in junior high. "What about these? They're pretty generic memories…I can't think of anything major that happened at either of those places."

Kyle sighs. "Our first kiss was at Stark's Pond."

"Damn, you boys left your mark everywhere," I reply, looking for something a bit less suggestive. Not that Stan would remember that. But if he did—if that was the first memory triggered at the thought of Stark's Pond—we'd probably damage him more. "Where are some places you haven't…uh…done stuff at?"

Kyle huffs at me. "Are you trying to keep those memories from Stan? What's your deal, Ken?"

"I just think it'd be better if…if we started out with something more neutral. Something from the younger years. Move chronologically. That way…we could build the story up for him if he had any questions."

He brightens up to this idea. "That might be a good idea. That way we could fill in any holes as we go along. Yeah, that sounds good!" He agrees with me quicker than I thought he would. I was sure I'd have to pull out some more excuses from my ass before the day was through. But this might actually work. If we're working with pictures, and we're moving from child to adult…Kyle might not even mention their activities in later life as a couple. I might've just saved the day!

It takes us entirely too long to pick out a few photos, and when we have, it's been two hours since I called Mrs. M. If she and Mr. M aren't there now, I'll be extremely pissed off. Once we've gathered everything Kyle is suddenly that much more excited to see Stan. On the drive to the hospital he keeps telling me what a good idea it was to think to bring pictures. I graciously accept his thanks. There's really no point in telling him it was a stalling tactic thought up on the fly.

Because the pictures we did choose, really WILL help Stan. Or at least I hope they do.

After we've parked and walked into the familiar waiting room area of the hospital, we're gestured toward Stan's room without so much of glance from the receptionist. I don't know if that's because she recognizes us or if it's because the Marsh's told her to expect us. As we near his room I hear the distinct sounds of a door opening and watch as both Stan's parents exit his room together.

"Hey there boys," Mr. Marsh says as he notices us. I give them a confused look as I glance back and forth at the two of them.

"Hey…" I mutter, while Kyle says it a little more enthusiastically.

"We came to visit," Kyle states the obvious. "And," he holds up the envelope we stuffed with pictures. "We brought pictures thinking it might help."

"Well that's a good idea," Mrs. Marsh says, smiling warmly at him.

"Are you two grabbing something to eat from the cafeteria?" I try to sound casual, but I have a feeling, a bad one, that they're not going anywhere near the damn cafeteria.

"Actually we're going home for the day," Mrs. Marsh replies apologetically. "Stan got a little…tired, and thought it was best to let him sleep."

"He's asleep?" Both Kyle and I ask. But while Kyle sounds disappointed, I sound way too happy.

"Not yet," Mr. Marsh informs us, much to my dismay. He thinks he's trying to be helpful. "Perhaps you can rejuvenate him with the pictures. He might be up for that." They nod to each other and both smile at Kyle, then me. Then they continue walking, away from Stan's room.

"Uh…Mrs. M!" I call out, panicked. Kyle has already begun walking into the room, but I doubt he's going to try to "rejuvenate" Stan with a kiss, so I've got a little bit of time.

"Yes, Kenny?" she answers, her eyes suddenly looking weary and stressed.

"Well, I was kind of hoping you would be in here with us as we visit. You know, for…support?"

She laughs in a way that insults me, though she has no intention of doing so. "You'll be fine. Its tough, trying to get Stan to react. But you've got Kyle. I know you two will help each other out."

"I'm just not sure he wants us in there alone, I mean…isn't it better if his family is there?"

She places a caring hand on my shoulder and looks deep into my eye. "Kenny, you and Kyle _are_ family. Stan will love having you there. He hasn't forgotten who his friends are."

"Sharon, we need to get going," Mr. Marsh tells his wife, looking at his watch. She looks over to him and nods. Before they head out, he adds, "hopefully you have more luck with him than we did."

As I watch the Marshes walk away from me, I feel a strange warming sensation envelope my body. I've never had someone call me family before. Unless they were, you know…_family_. And when it's them, its not meant to be a compliment. Its always a way of attaching some sort of responsibility to me. "Kenny, you have to pay your dad's bail. He's family."

If it's not to make me feel guilty, then it's to offend me. "So you're dirt poor too? Well, what'd you expect? You're part of this family."

It's never been a term of endearment. I hardly know how to react.

"Hey you," Kyle coos, and my thoughts suddenly zone back into the present. I twist my neck in the direction of the doorway and see Kyle fluffing Stan's pillow, their faces dangerously close together.

"Stan!" I yell, unsure of how to distract, but aware that I have to do something. I run into the room so that it appears I'm excited to see my friend. I slow down the pace as I near his bed, and stop immediately when I catch Kyle's glare. He's probably mad at me for ruining their "moment."

Well tough luck! I seriously need to print out some pages for him about amnesia patients!

Kyle may look annoyed, but Stan's face looks a bit pale. Yeah, he can thank me later for that one. "So good to see you!" I add, approaching his bed and planting myself on the other side.

"Ken, hi!" He says it with such relieved enthusiasm that I want to laugh. It still doesn't really sound like him, but it's his face, and that smile he's giving me is him. "I was wondering where you were," he adds and I cock my head to the side.

"Just talking with the 'rents. You sound…" Normal is what I _don't_ say. "Like your usual self today."

"Mhm," he answers. If you can call a 'mhm' an answer.

"Stan you,-"

"Your parents seemed ready to bolt man, what'd you do?" I interrupt Kyle. I don't mean to be a prick, but it's occurring to me that I just can't trust a word that slips from his mouth. Everything he says, everything he does has this touch of intimacy that Stan just doesn't remember. And I can't let him freak out the guy more than he already has.

Stan doesn't even look over at Kyle. I don't know if it's because he can't meet his gaze, or if he just didn't hear him. I hadn't given Kyle much room to speak.

"They talked about a family reunion and were mentioning a lot of people…I couldn't remember most of them. They got frustrated I guess, told me it was okay though, and to rest. I'm tired of resting."

I nod my head understandably. So it's not exactly what Mrs. M was saying. It's not that she and Mr. M thought Stan was tired. It's that they were tired of trying to get him to remember events he didn't feel ever took place. Guess that kinda thing would be hard on parents…

"Suppose you won't be wanting our pictures then," I ask him. "Kyle and I brought over some stuff that might help, but if you're feeling overwhelmed we can do that shit some other time."

"Pictures?" he asks curiously, and even takes a second to glance at Kyle. Kyle, who's looking down at his hands quietly.

"Yeah," I say slowly. "It was Kyle's idea."

At that, Kyle snaps his head up to look at me bewilderedly. "Right dude?" I push. He nods hesitantly while he picks the envelope up from where he must have tossed it earlier. He hands Stan the package and I wince when their hands meet.

I watch as something flashes in Stan's eyes, but its not recognition, it's panic. I instantly reach over to grab the envelope, causing their hands to be bumped apart.

"We got some really good ones," I say cheerfully, trying to act like I didn't just purposely push my way between them. I reach out and pull out the first picture I find. It's of me, Stan, Kyle, and Cartman back in kindergarten.

"These, these were the good years," I muse, showing Stan and handing him the picture. He glances over it. It doesn't look like he's registering anything, but he points at Cartman.

"Who is…?"

I snort and almost burst out laughing. "Of all the people in the world to forget, you're better off not remembering him. That's Cartman and all of us back in the kinder years."

Stan only looks lost. "Are you sure he's in kindergarten? He's so fat."

At that I can't help but to laugh out loud, all while smacking Stan on the shoulder and trying to hold myself upright.

"I thought you weren't supposed to touch-"

"And this is us at the South Park carnival when we all first rode the Tilt-a-Whirl," I continue, ignoring Kyle's very observant statement. The difference between my touch and his is that Stan doesn't shrink back in confusion when I show my friend-ly affections.

"Why are you crying, Kyle?" Stan asks curiously about the picture.

Kyle laughs to himself. "Because you threw up on me minutes before this picture was taken."

I point to Kyle's jacket. "That's not a tye-dye jacket he's wearing," I say, indicating that the pink, red, purple, and green splotches aren't part of the material.

"Jesus Christ, what did I eat that morning? A rainbow?"

"Fruit Loops," Kyle quietly adds.

"Why would anyone take a picture of this!? You look miserable!" Stan cries out, his energy surprising me. Clearly the reunion talk wasn't the key to getting him back. Pictures of barf-covered Kyle was.

"Kyle's mom has a twisted sense of humor," I explain, moving on to the next photo. It's a picture of just Stan and Kyle, laying on the ground and playing with Sparky.

"Sparky!" Stan's eyes light up, and it makes me smile to know that he remembers his childhood pup. I glance at Kyle to see how he's holding up through this all, but I can tell he's getting frustrated. After all, I'm the one holding the pictures, I'm the one now on the edge of Stan's bed, and _I'm_ the one Stan's looking at. The one he's sharing with.

"I bet you can't bring dogs in here, can you?" Stan asks, his eyes pasted on the doggy picture.

"I don't know," I reply honestly.

"I'd really like to see Sparky. He's probably wondering where I'm at."

I look at Kyle when he says this. How do we tell Stan that his dog died two years ago and he refused to let him go so he had him cremated and put in an urn, which is now in his bedroom?

"I'm sure he misses you," Kyle says softly.

Kyle's itching to touch him, I can feel it. Before Stan realizes this, I grab a hold of his shoulder which forces him to look at me.

"Sparky died awhile back dude," I tell him.

"W-what?" He chokes out.

"Kenny!" Kyle says my name harshly.

"Look," I say to both of them. "We want you to someday get all your memories back. We can't do that if we sugar coat facts like that for you. What good would it do to tell you about him, getting your hopes up in thinking you could see him again? I'm sorry Stan," I add quietly.

"Oh," he says and the picture falls from his hand. "It's okay…maybe I knew that? I'm not sure actually…"

Stan falls into silence and I know it's as if he's re-mourning the death of Sparky all over again. A death he can't remember, which must suck more than I can imagine. Pain is written all over his face, and I'm not sure if he's trying to hold back tears or not. Kyle must think so because he leans over and to my slight amusement and dismay kisses Stan on the forehead.

"Oh honey I'm so sorry," he mutters before pulling back.

Any pain Stan had in his eyes has long vanished and is replaced with absolute horror. Thinking of the best possible idea, I too lean forehead and kiss Stan on the forehead as well. He gives me an equal look of disbelief, but I'm quick to save myself and defend my action.

"'T's alright, pumpkin bear," I say with the most conviction I can manage.

Stan's look turns to one of confusion as he looks back and forth at Kyle and I. I, on the other hand, keep my eyes glued on him. There's no need for me to meet Kyle's face of pure anger. I can feel him shooting bullets into me as it is.

"We'd constantly rag on each other when we got too over sentimental about things," I supply to Stan, lying through my teeth. "You know how guys rag on each other when they get emotional."

"Ah," he nods at this and seems a little better at what just happened. "But pumpkin bear?" He asks and I shrug while grinning.

"First term of endearment that came to mind."

For the first time since the accident, I watch in relief as Stan busts out laughing. I laugh along forcibly, refusing to meet Kyle's intense glare. When the laughter dies down, Stan looks to me for the next round of pictures, but I'm just so out of my element that I hesitate one second too long.

"Its so nice to see you smile, Stan," Kyle muses, his hand unknowingly reaching up to brush an ebony hair behind Stan's ear. "I've missed your laughter."

A crease forms in the middle of Stan's forehead, and Kyle's half-smile melts right off his face.

As if shaken from a trance, I talk well above the needed volume for the room. "Thanks Kyle! That hair was bugging me too. It looked all…matted…to Stan's face. Stan, are you hot? It seems kind of hot in here. Don't you think?"

Stan looks over at me like I've lost my marbles, and Kyle grits his teeth and gives me the look of death. He tousles Stan's hair one last time before reaching into his back pocket and turning his attention to his clueless boyfriend. "I forgot to put this picture in the envelope before we left the house. Its just something to remember me by…"

My eyes widen in horror as he pulls out the glossy print into plain view. As quickly as humanly possible, I lunge over Stan's legs and yank the picture right out of his hand. "NO!" I scream, pulling it back to safety, away from Stan's eyes.

"Wha-" Stan begins, reaching for the picture. He leans up off his bed extremely well and almost grabs it. Without having time to think, I stuff it down the front of my jeans, feeling the crisp corners scrape my skin along the way.

Stan witnesses the whole debacle before raising his eyebrows at me.

I shrug. "Uh…first sushi experience. I mistook the wasabi for guacamole. Very embarrassing."

And with that, Kyle jerks his arm to the bed and hits the metal railing with one forceful push before storming out of the room.

I hesitate momentarily, feeling the photo slip down to uncalled for territories. "…Be right back."

Without giving Stan time to absorb the strange incidents happening before him, I take off in a mad dash to catch up to Kyle. I see him down the hallway by the time I exit the room.

"Kyle!" I hiss out harshly. I'd call out his name, but it IS a hospital and I've probably already broken a few rules by yelling in Stan's room.

Of course he doesn't listen to me, and he walks so far away from me that he makes it past the receptionist area and the waiting room before I begin to catch up to him. I spy him frantically pushing the elevator button and immediately grab his arm to pull him so that he's facing me.

"Kyle! Dude, come on!"

"You!" He shoves a finger against my chest. "Are a prick!"

"I-"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Kissing Stan, touching him in ways you never dared do before! And for what?! To stop me from doing so!"

"I-"

"Why didn't you just TELL me he doesn't remember Kenny?!" He looks so hurt that it doesn't even phase me that he's realized what I've been doing and why I've been doing it.

"Wh…what?" I ask, acting as dumbfounded as someone can when they have just heard something they've known for a while now. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's the truth and you fucking know it. Your…charade…this pathetic excuse for a cover up isn't too smooth, Kenny. Stan doesn't remember who I am to him and you didn't have the balls to tell me this!"

"When did you figure that out?"

"What do you mean when?!" he snaps. "How about when you called him pumpkin bear, or when you shoved a picture down your PANTS, thinking I'd brought the one of me and Stan from our North Park date."

"Automatic reaction," I say in my defense.

"Stupidity is what it is! That was just Ike's school picture!"

"Wha?" I say dumbfounded and turn slightly to reach down my pants and pull out the offending paper. Looking back at me is a 16 year old Ike beaming at me in a casual yearbook photo pose. "Shit," I mutter to myself. "I was going to tell you Kyle…eventually. I just wasn't sure how to break it to you. You were already upset enough over Stan's condition. I wasn't sure how to tell you that while he remembered you, he didn't remember what you two were."

"It's pretty obvious now," he tells me. "The way he'd always flinch when I came near him…he didn't do that with you. He fucking looked at you like you were his goddamn savior every time you did something idiotic to intercept me."

"…I'm sorry."

"You should've at least…warned me. Or told me that showing Stan my feelings might be too much for him."

"I tried!" I exclaim.

"Yeah well not hard enough. I made a complete ass out of myself in there and now Stan hates me," he growls, pushing the button again.

"Excuse me? _You_ made an ass out of yourself? Dude, Stan thinks I'm a total quack for what I did! I'm sure he won't remember anything when we go back in there. We just…have to act natural."

Kyle sighs, heartbroken. "That _was_ me being natural. You're asking me to be someone I'm not." The elevator dings and the door opens up. "You may be able to lie to Stan about this, but I can't. I'm going home until I can figure out what the hell to do."

And like that, the doors close, and I'm left on the floor by myself. Left to explain to Stan what just happened.

Great. I turn around slowly, but eventually pick up my pace when I realize Kyle and I totally bolted on Stan in a really weird way. Before walking back into his room, I peek my head in and see him sitting upright practically twiddling his thumbs. Poor guy. He must be wondering what sort of friends he befriended.

"Yo," I say casually as I walk back in. Stan looks up alert and I see a part of the real him, before it fades away.

"You came back," he states.

"Well, yeah," I respond and plant myself in the chair by his bed, rather than the bed itself.

"Kyle?" He questions, which causes me to suck in my breath.

"Kyle," I start and trail off.

Kyle what? Kyle left because he was pissed and frustrated because he has a major boner for you and isn't allowed to show it?

"Kyle's got stuff to do," I finish lamely.

"You both were acting very…funny," he tells me and I snort in agreement.

"No need to be so nice about it. Just say it like it was. We were acting insane."

Stan smiles at this, nodding while he does so. "But I'm happy it was you who stayed…Kyle's…he's…"

"Pushing the platonic envelope? I know, and dude he's just…he's really worried, you know? So maybe he's going a tad overboard. It's just because he cares." Which is the truth to an extent. "But it makes you uncomfortable," I say, reading the expression on his face. "I'll make sure he backs off the next time we're in."

He nods, "when is next time?"

"Hm," I think carefully. "Finals are coming up. You picked an awesome time to get amnesia. But I can swing around in a couple days."

"Tomorrow?"

"Don't you have to like…rest and shit?"

"I rest at night, and maybe I can remember some stuff from the textbooks," he points out, and at this I shrug.

"If you want, and if you don't mind me pretending to study in your room."

"No, and then come everyday right after classes, okay?"

"Every day dude?" I ask bewildered. "I don't mind, but are you sure you wont get sick of me? Maybe your mind's too scrambled to remember, but I did know how to get on your last nerve. It was a specialty of mine."

"Maybe if you piss me off enough, I'll start remembering times when I couldn't stand you then," he answers with a smirk.

I chuckle out loud. Its good to see he still has some humor, even if it is completely off-the-wall from what he used to be. Come to think of it, Stan never was too funny. Maybe this conk to the head turned him into the Albert fucking Einstein of the comedy world. Then he would travel the globe with the most unique set of jokes that he couldn't remember.

I give him my best fake salute and stand up. "I'll try my best not to let you down, general."

Stan seems a bit thrown off by my comment, but laughs it off. "Thanks."

"So I'll see you tomorrow then," I sum up, heading out of the door as I do so.

"Sounds good." I all but exit the room before he continues. "Oh, and Kenny? Would you mind it if it was just you? I think I'd like to take a break from Kyle's…welcoming."

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. But he can't see me. "Sure thing," I say before leaving him in peace.

Shit. Fuck shit damn! What the hell—_how_ the hell—am I supposed to do something like that? How am I supposed to keep Kyle from seeing Stan? Shit, he knows that Stan doesn't remember them, so he probably wants to try his best to get the memory train on the right track again. But he can't do that without making frequent visits. And Stan doesn't want frequent visits. Stan doesn't want _any_ visits.

Fuck. Better start conjuring up bogus reasons why Kyle can't come to the hospital. Maybe I can tell him the hospital burned down and Stan was shipped somewhere secluded to recover? He doesn't watch the news _every_ day…

But damn! He would if I pulled that lie on him. And no, forget the news, he'd run over here as fast as his legs could carry him. Which means I've gotta think of something else, something secure, something believable…and the only thing that's both of those is the God-awful truth.

I'm still racking my brain on what I ought to do all the way out of the hospital and into the parking lot. I only stop when I see Kyle leaning against my car, arms crossed, and head lifted up toward the sky. I stop a few feet away from him and he brings his head down to look at me.

"You drove," he says simply.

"Ah," I nod. "Right…did you…head back up to Stan's room by any chance?" I ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. While inside I'm having a mini freak out over the idea that he overheard what Stan and I were just talking about.

"No," he responds. I let him in the car before letting myself in and we crouch in at the same time. "Maybe I should give him a bit of space for awhile," he mumbles, but I hear every word. It's like a giant weight lifts off me.

"Wouldn't hurt," I tell him, giving Kyle a soft smile.

"Yeah," he leans into the passenger seat as I start the car and turn onto the main road.

We don't say much else as I drive and drop him off at home. Frankly, I'm too relieved. Kyle deciding to back off for awhile gives me a few days to think of a reason why he shouldn't visit Stan at all until he gives me the go ahead.

In the meantime, I'm crossing my fingers that Stan's memory in history is still as awesome as ever. Because that final I have coming up is gonna be painful…and he was supposed to be my tutor.

- IBB & FG

_Oh. And on a side note (one IBB has no idea I'm writing) do you remember 'Fighting the Truth'? Yes? Thought so because you loved it as much as I did. Been to IBB's page lately? Notice anything? It's gone. Deleted. That's right. You can never read the SP version again. Shame. Wait, no. Why? Because it's being PUBLISHED. Seriously. But rest assured, just because you read that version does not mean you don't need to read and buy the new one. The boys have new names, the plots deeper, and once you've finished you won't even remember where the plot was originally taken from. Look into it come December. Titles the same by Tara Leigh. Ep. Hopefully she never reads this. XD_


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